Slave of Passion
by Kala Dawson
Summary: After an encounter with a certain someone in Box Five, Raoul begins to doubt his love for Christine.. look! A first! E/R! (wow!) In the works. May take longer, now.
1. Chapter 1

Slave of Passion  
  
"Raoul?"  
  
"Philippe, we will be late!" Raoul smoothed his hair back and slipped his cloak around his shoulders, sighing. "Christine is singing tonight, and I promised her I would speak with her before the performance!"  
  
"Calm yourself, brother," Philippe purred, taking his top hat from the coat tree by the door. "We are an hour early. It will takes us twenty minutes to arrive at the Opera House, and give you the rest of the hour to talk with your lover. Do not be hasty. We will make it in time."  
  
Raoul threw a white scarf around his brother's neck, adjusting it and helping him into his coat. "Christine has been in peril. Peril of the mind. She has not been herself, if you haven't noticed."  
  
"I think it's all a big joke," Philippe grumbled, taking up his walking stick. "It's just a ploy to get herself more attention, that's all."  
  
"Mind yourself," Raoul snapped, opening the door and stepping outside into the chilly night air. "Christine is having a rough time, you know that. Her father died, and she's trying to maintain a living working as a chorus girl. Be nice to her, Philippe, even if you don't like her."  
  
"Yes, because she's your lover," Philippe sighed, stepping into the carriage and holding out his hand for his brother. "I know, Raoul. I'll be good."  
  
"I'm glad." Pulling on his gloves, the youngest of the two gave orders to the coachman and they were off. Their conversation continued in jest and laughter until they arrived safely at the opera house, Philippe helping his brother out of the carriage and walking in with him, arm in arm. They were greeted by gentlemen and ladies, regulars and newcomers to the opera, all praising them on how splendid they looked that particular evening and how nice the weather was. Raoul had no patience to linger and speak with the people mingling there, though. He politely excused himself once he saw an open chance and made for the dressing rooms.  
  
Once getting past the guard and coming upon Christine's door, he couldn't help but listen through the wood at her voice wafting through the air. The door was, unfortunately, locked, so he had to settle for listening at the door. There was a pause, and Raoul opened his mouth to call her name, and instead he heard a male voice speaking her name instead. Raoul blinked in surprise. "Surely you haven't taken a lover on the side," he murmured, nodding his head to a passing group of giggling dancers. Once they were gone, he pressed his ear to the door and strained to hear the conversation beyond.  
  
"Christine. you are ready for tonight. You will take them aback with awe. You will be singing tonight's leading role. Carlotta. has fallen ill."  
  
"Oh, Angel, surely you are mistaken! I cannot sing the lead tonight. I am faint with fright!"  
  
"You will be fine, my dear. Trust me. Trust your Angel. I know what's best for you, and this is what should be done for you. You will sing to bring them to their feet! They will love you at first note, as they have done many times before."  
  
"As you say, Angel. Oh, don't leave! Please don't leave me now!"  
  
"I must go, Christine. Do not answer the door, do not talk to the one standing outside. He will only distract you. I do not want you to be distracted, not now. I will watch you sing tonight. Sing for me, as you always do."  
  
"I will, Angel. Farewell."  
  
"Farewell, my Christine."  
  
And then there was silence. Raoul's eyes narrowed. Who was that in there? He had to know!  
  
"Christine? It's me, Raoul. I've come to speak with you, as you've bid me to."  
  
He heard a faint gasp and rustling around, and he righted himself for the door to open. Christine, decked in her street clothes, stood in the doorway, her large eyes wide and scared. "Raoul! You mustn't be here!"  
  
"Who was that in your room, Christine? Is there anyone in there?"  
  
"No, there is no one. I'm afraid I can't speak to you, Raoul. We'll have to wait until after the show. Please, please go." She did nothing but push him away, looking behind her into her empty room as she did so. "Go, now! I will meet you after the performance, I promise you this, Raoul."  
  
Raoul clasped his lover's hand and kissed her fingers softly before nodding. "I will leave. But I hold you true to your word."  
  
"Yes, now please, go!"  
  
He sighed, turned, and made for his box where he knew Philippe would be waiting. How peculiar, the way Christine was acting. Whoever had spoken to her had frightened her into obeying like a slave, though the voice he had heard was gentle. and male. A man. Who could he be? He searched his mind. A friend? No, not the way Christine had addressed and spoken to him. A teacher, then. She had referred to him as 'angel'. But he would have seen the teacher in her room. There was not a another person he had glimpsed when Christine opened the door. Who could it have been?  
  
"Ah, there you are," Philippe said, patting the chair beside him. "Come, sit down. You look distraught." Blue eyes searched brown, and Philippe frowned. "What happened with Christine? I thought you would be there talking with her."  
  
Raoul removed his cloak and draped it over the chair along with his top hat, which he laid on the banister. "I was going to, but she was busy. She worries me, brother. She gets more and more mysterious with every passing minute."  
  
"Don't dwell on it," offered the older sibling. "Relax and enjoy the show, you'll see her afterwards."  
  
"Yes, I suppose so," Raoul said, eyes searching the house. His eyes fell upon the ever-empty Box Five, and he frowned. "Box Five is always empty. I wonder who it's reserved for?"  
  
"Who knows," Philippe muttered, tugging off his gloves. "It's been that way since the opening of this opera house. It is curious, yes, but."  
  
"I'm going to sit in Box Five," Raoul announced, standing with a flourish and taking up his cloak and hat. He was immediately jerked down by a rough hand, his eyes locked with those of his brother.  
  
"Are you insane?" he hissed. "No one is allowed to sit there, unless you want to deal with death! It's rumoured that that box is the Phantom's. You will not go there while I'm alive. When I'm dead, you can meddle with his affairs all you want. But no, Raoul. You will sit here and that's final."  
  
Raoul snarled, snatching his arm away from Philippe's grasp. "I am going to find out about this 'Phantom' right now. If you do not want to come, that is fine. I will go alone. Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, standing once again and making for the curtain, "I have an opera to see."  
  
"It was nice being your brother," came Philippe's sigh. "Tell me, after your remains are found, would you rather be sewn back together or buried as is?"  
  
"I will return," Raoul said with an air of confidence. "And I will tell you my tale, if you are willing to hear."  
  
With that, Raoul left the box and made for Box Five, dread growing in his heart as he grew closer with each step. Phantom of the Opera. Hmph! Not an old tale such as that would scare him away! Raoul paused and turned around. Yes it would. He heard rumours of how avid a killer the Phantom was, and he certainly didn't want to end up on the wrong side of the pistol. He stopped and stood tall. No. He was going to go and sit in Box Five and overcome this. Yes. He was a Vicomte de Changy. He could do this.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Raoul turned back around and strode until he reached Box Five. Lifting the curtain away, he stepped in and sat down in a chair. So far so good. As the lights lowered, Mame Giry peeked into the box, and, seeing Raoul, gasped. "Monsieur! You shouldn't be in here! He will be very displeased!"  
  
"I am here to meet the Phantom of the Opera," Raoul said the most steady voice he could manage. "I will wait here for him, if I must."  
  
"Then you are awaiting death. Return to your own box now, sir, and he may show you mercy."  
  
"Perhaps. But now, madam, I will wait here. Thank you."  
  
Mame Giry sighed and stepped away, shaking her head. The Vicomte was good man. why would he incur such a wrath?  
  
The lights lowered and the opera began. Everything seemed to be well for Raoul until he felt a chill run down his spine and suddenly he found himself on the floor, staring up into piercing yellow eyes and a white mask. The man standing over him was tall and lean, a few strands of hair hanging over his mask in a veil. Raoul, paralyzed in fear, could only stare. The top half of the man's face was covered with a white mask and a sword was dangerously close to his neck, a firm foot planted atop his chest. Raoul opened his mouth to make a noise, any noise, but was cut off by a cold touch of metal against his throat.  
  
"Who are you and what are you doing here, in my box?" came the angered, silky voice of the Phantom, his narrowed yellow eyes boring into Raoul's frightened orbs. Raoul was about to reply, when the Phantom continued. "Ah. you are the Vicomte de Changy. Christine's. friend. Raoul, is that your name? Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, after all the things I've heard her gush about you. What brings you to my box, dear sir? Did you wish to die?"  
  
That voice. that voice. and those eyes! Raoul closed his mouth and stared back into the Phantom's eyes, lost in the yellow orbs. The Phantom removed the sword from his throat and pulled Raoul to his feet by the front of his clothes, glaring at him, eye level. "Well? I expect you to answer. It is polite to answer a question once it is asked of you."  
  
His voice. Raoul was lost to the harsh, satin touch of his smooth voice, and fumbled for words. "I wanted to meet you," he replied without an ounce of confidence, having trouble trying to maintain his own strong demeanor. He was failing miserably, as the Phantom only bared his teeth and threw him to the floor.  
  
"Meet me? You have met me now, Raoul. What do you think? Should I kill you, or should I let you go? You have invaded my space and my privacy. It is only customary that you would leave now. I'm giving you the chance to flee, Raoul. I would take this time to get to your feet and *leave*."  
  
Raoul nodded and frantically scrambled to his feet, scurrying out of the box and running straight for his brother's box, slowing down only to sit and pant softly once he reached his destination. Philippe smirked and patted Raoul's knee, leaning over to whisper, "What did I tell you, Raoul?"  
  
"You were right," Raoul panted, swallowing and looking down at the stage. "I'm never going back."  
  
//I'm going back,// he thought to himself, eyebrows furrowing. //His voice is beautiful. it was he who I heard in Christine's room! He is the Angel! But his voice. ai, his voice. I have never heard such beauty.// Raoul blinked. //Am I mad? He gave me the chance to flee, and I want to return? What is this talk, Raoul? Surely some sort of madness has gotten to you.//  
  
He heard nothing of the performance. He didn't see Christine. He never heard her. All the time, Raoul's eyes kept flicking to Box Five, and every time he reprimanded himself for being such a fool. What was this he was feeling? He could never forget that voice. The Phantom had a sultry. sensual voice, and for once Raoul began to doubt himself. Then he made his decision. As intermission neared, he had made up his mind. He was not going to see Christine.  
  
He was going back to Box Five. 


	2. Chapter 2

Slave of Passion  
  
Disclaimer: Do not own, yadda yadda yadda. If I did own, Erik and Raoul would get their own book and Christine would be nowhere in sight. *cackle*  
  
Erik was not amused. That viscount was in his box, and how dare he suggest he wanted to meet him! Nobody ever had the courage to even think about the possibility, and he had to admire his bravery. But honestly, why would he ever want to meet the Phantom of the Opera face to face? Did he really want to risk his life like he did?  
  
Alas, he had finally met the Vicomte de Changy! Now he could match the words to face, though he didn't quite understand what Christine was so happy about. Though. Erik's eyes narrowed into thin slits as he watched the ending piece of the opera before intermission began. There was something charming about that young man. He was handsome, yes, and he had a nice build, he could feel it through his clothes. Erik couldn't quite put his finger on it. Surely, it would come to him.  
  
As the applause drifted through the opera house, Erik rose from his seat and slipped from Box Five, leaving behind a gold coin on the seat of his chair. He walked briskly down the hallway and rounded the corner, down a staircase and flipping a hidden switch at the wall at the base of the stairs to wander through the passageway that lead to Christine's dressing room. Once he came upon the mirror, he waited patiently for her arrival, meanwhile thinking over his predicament.  
  
What if this Raoul character wanted to challenge him? Let him! He will be dead quicker than he can think of what a fool he had been. He hadn't killed a man in some time, and it would feel good to wrap his Punjab lasso around his pretty neck. Or release him into his torture chamber. He hasn't had a victim in a torture chamber since the khanum in Persia, and that was for her pleasure. The invasion in was worthy enough for a mind game in his mirror chamber.  
  
Finally, Christine entered her dressing room and filled a glass with water, sipping carefully. Erik remained silent until she had enough and sat down, turning to the mirror and fixed her hair, and, placing her hands in her lap, addressed her angel. "Angel. Angel, are you there?"  
  
"I am here, my dear." Erik cleared his mind and tuned himself in to his student.  
  
"I sang for you tonight, Angel. I know there's still a second half to finish, but did you hear me? I sang with my heart, like you told me to. Did you hear them applaud? I thought Carlotta had come onto the stage!"  
  
Erik smiled softly. "Yes, child. Your voice has matured and grown to be the finest of all divas. You have surpassed Carlotta, Christine. You proved yourself to the managers tonight. Proved yourself to me. I am very proud of you."  
  
Christine smiled and reached out towards the mirror. "Thank you, Angel. I will sing just as I did for the second half of the performance."  
  
"You will sing better," Erik corrected, lightening the mirror to show his faint image. "You will sing with more beauty and passion, Christine. Remember, you are the lead tonight. Not a chorus girl."  
  
"Yes, Angel." Christine looked wistfully up at his shadowed face and leaned back against the chair, sighing. Erik smiled.  
  
"Rest your voice, Christine. I will be watching you."  
  
"Yes, Angel." She sounded so mechanical, but she looked forlorn and tired. Returning the mirror to its usual state, Erik deftly made his way back to Box Five, stopping to listen to the ballet dancers gossip and giggle for a moment, before sliding back into the open and making his way up the stairs. Few people ceased their conversations to stare at the passing masked man as he disappeared into Box Five.  
  
There, he was shocked to find Raoul sitting in a chair, leaning against the banister and looking out at the orchestra seats below. Erik drew his sword silently from its scabbard and pressed the tip of the weapon against the man's hip. "Just *what* do you think you are doing here," Erik hissed, poking him roughly. Raoul flinched and turned around, smirking.  
  
"I thought our first meeting was much too abrupt."  
  
"So you dare to return and risk your life a second time to speak with me? What a mind you have, Vicomte. I daresay I admire your strength, but I have no business with you."  
  
"No, you don't. It is I who have business with you."  
  
Erik scowled and drew his sword back. "Then speak quickly. I'm getting tired of your games."  
  
Raoul stood and leaned back against the banister, arms crossed over his chest. He examined his nails and then glanced up at Erik's mask, at his yellow eyes and thin lips. He truly didn't have any business with the Phantom. It was just an excuse to hear his voice again.  
  
"Hurry, Raoul. I'm not in any mood to play."  
  
"My, aren't we impatient." As his mind raced, Raoul couldn't help but stare into Erik's eyes. If it made the Phantom uncomfortable, he didn't show it. Then, without thinking, his lips moved and his mind spoke for him. "Your eyes. They're beautiful."  
  
Erik's lips pursed into a thin line. "You came here to tell me *that*? Don't you have better things to do?"  
  
Raoul blinked and swallowed nervously. "I didn't mean to say that."  
  
"And you did. Well, congratulations, Raoul. You've made a fool out of yourself."  
  
"Indeed, I have." The Vicomte sighed. "Forgive me, Phantom. I was not thinking."  
  
"Apparently." Erik smirked and sheathed his sword. "Now, are you going to leave? I'd like to spend the rest of the evening in peace, if you'd please."  
  
"No." His answer surprised even himself, and Raoul held Erik's gaze steady, noticing his glare. "I thought, perhaps, I could sit with you tonight. Philippe's courting a young lady, and would probably rather share my seat with her."  
  
Erik clicked his tongue. "Oh, my poor Raoul. How unfortunate. But, no. I'm sure there are more seats in your box."  
  
Raoul found himself looking at Erik's lips and he swallowed again. His voice was wafting into his ears and drifting down his body to his groin. Hopefully, Erik wouldn't notice. Clearing his throat, Raoul gripped the velvet banister and raised a hand to slick his hair back. "But surely you get lonely up here, Phantom. Just this once, and then I'll never come around again. How about it?"  
  
Erik was silent for a minute, his thoughts bubbling. Raoul's voice was thick with lust, he could hear it, as much as he was trying to mask it. Did he really think he could hide it from him? His lips broke into a smirk. "Are you making an advance, Raoul?"  
  
The other man was startled. Was he that obvious? Raoul was dimly aware of the lights lowering around him and the voices silencing, the orchestra starting up as Erik remained standing and calm, the smirk existent on his face. He racked his mind for a reasonable defense, not noticing as Erik took as seat and leaned back against the chair. It was his voice that awoke him from his thoughts.  
  
"Come, Raoul. Sit next to me. It would be impolite to stand there and talk to me during the performance."  
  
"Yes, of course," Raoul mumbled, quickly taking a seat beside Erik. During the entire second half, Raoul continued to glance next to him at the Phantom, though Erik's attentions were directed at the stage. He had completed his task. Somehow, he felt he had broken Erik's barrier after he had realized and heard the lust in his voice. He had been successful.  
  
Erik took this time to ponder the man's problem. He was most obviously lusting after him, even after just meeting him. How could that be, even so? They didn't know each other, barely, but he Raoul did say that his eyes were beautiful. Erik scowled to himself. Beautiful? Perhaps in some other world. Whatever gave Raoul that idea?  
  
Against his better judgment, Erik glanced down at Raoul's lap where his hands sat. Indeed, he was aroused. He was hiding it well, but he was uncomfortable. Poor fool. Erik laughed quietly to himself and patted Raoul's hand, leaning in close to his ear. "No need to be ashamed, my friend. I see no fault in being. bothered."  
  
Raoul hissed and turned his head to look at him sharply. "Stop toying with my brain, Phantom. I did not come here to be ridiculed and mocked."  
  
Erik smiled and removed his hand from over Raoul's. "I meant no harm, Raoul. I just realize you desire me." He smiled and whispered, "Unless, you deny your heart and you refuse my offer."  
  
Raoul blinked hard, drawing back to look at him with surprise. "You're offering yourself to me?"  
  
"Now, I didn't say that," Erik chided, turning his eyes back to the singers. "Think that over, Raoul. I thought you were in love with Christine. Wouldn't you want to be faithful to her?"  
  
Christine. He hadn't thought about her. Raoul frowned and turned his face away. He had just begun to think he was in love with the mysterious Phantom when he had to mention Christine. Now he had two things to think about. His head clouded and Raoul shook it to clear for it to clear, sighing. "I don't know, Phantom."  
  
"Well, if you don't know, you'd better not do anything before you think it over, hm?" Erik smiled. "Christine means a lot to you. Don't do anything stupid, Raoul. Don't lose yourself to a frivolous, passionate thought. She'd be very displeased, and so would you."  
  
"What does it matter to you," Raoul muttered, barely noticing Christine belting out her notes on the stage below. Erik blinked. Why did it matter to him, anyway?  
  
"It doesn't matter to me," he said, sighing. "I'm just saying. You should consider your feelings before doing anything foolish."  
  
Raoul glanced back at Erik and studied him carefully. What he wanted to do *was* foolish, and it would earn him a sword through the gut. But he made him wonder: if he did, what would Erik truly do? He was being so nice to him. perhaps he wouldn't mind.  
  
Just as he was getting ready to make a move, Erik rose from his seat and placed another gold coin on the chair. "Alas, Raoul, I must be leaving. I have things to attend to. If you'll excuse me." Erik smiled and bowed, sliding from the box, leaving Raoul alone and lonesome.  
  
Outside, Erik hurried down the hall and quickly encased himself in a hidden passageway. Once inside, he slid down the wall and closed his hand between his legs, groaning softly. That was it. Raoul was innocent. He was eager, but innocent. Sighing softly, he waited until his arousal faded and he closed his eyes, hearing Christine's voice through the walls. The opera was halfway over. And he was in love.  
  
In love? Preposterous! He hasn't been in love since. since he was in that Gypsy group. That young Gypsy boy he had shared a few sweet kisses and touches with, and that young boy had died after an epidemic in the tribe. Erik sighed again. Raoul was not the one to fall in love with! He was in love with Christine, and they deserved to be together. There was nothing he could do.  
  
Christine would probably be eating with Raoul after the performance, or would be returning home. he, himself, will return home. And he did.  
  
Flopping down onto his bed as soon as he was inside his underground home, Erik was faintly aware of Ayesha meowing and nudging her face against his mask, lying down beside him and purring softly. Erik rolled over onto his back and drew the cat onto his chest, stroking her fur gently and soothingly as he closed his eyes. At first, there was blackness, that eventually grew into the image of Christine. He smiled. Christine was only a chick, and her voice was improving day by day.  
  
The image left to be replaced with. Raoul? Erik opened his eyes and frowned. He had just met he man, and already he was thinking about him? He had gone mad.  
  
Erik gently set Ayesha down and didn't bother to undress. He merely crawled underneath the covers and removed his mask, setting it on his beside table. He closed his eyes and slipped into a dreamless sleep.  
  
Meanwhile, Raoul had finished watching the opera in silence and risen from his seat and also left a coin behind, walking back to his brother's box. He and Philippe left, once gathering their things, and Raoul endured a prodding and poking talk on the way back home. He didn't wish to have that talk with Christine anymore. He had some serious thinking to do.  
  
Philippe earned no answer from his brother and watched in confusion as Raoul mounted the stairs and declared he was tired and was retiring to bed. Usually he stayed up for a drink or two, and chatted far into the night. Philippe nodded and bid him a good night, shaking his head and pouring himself a drink. Whatever had happened in Box Five had gotten to him.  
  
Raoul collapsed on his bed and kicked off his shoes and socks, groaning and sitting up to slowly undress. He was aroused again, he noted, and he brought himself to quick and easy release in the privacy of his own room, moaning 'Phantom' as he came. He knew him by no other name, and he wished he had asked for his name. Sighing, he tugged on his nightclothes and slipped into bed, sighing again at the comfort the warm sheets offered.  
  
"Phantom. who are you?" Raoul turned over and lay awake for a while before sleep claimed him, those yellow eyes of his cocky friend haunting him. It was soon when Raoul's breathing slowed in the state of sleep, dreaming of nothing but his Phantom of the Opera. Tomorrow was another day.  
  
And tomorrow, he would seek him out again. 


	3. Chapter 3

Slave of Passion  
  
Notes: Yes, Erik could possibly be straight. Now, who can't wonder? Erik very well *could* be a closet gay; I mean, really. I'm not stereotyping homosexuals, but he's never had a woman, he's into the arts, he sings, and deep down he's probably questioning. Now, I realize this is the first Erik/Raoul fic around here, and I knew this was bound to get flames (which are taken and used to roast my marshmallows and warm my dinner) and get "WHAT?!" reactions, as well as "Hmm. I wish this was ___" but hey, free speech. I'm taking full advantage. XD  
  
'Slave of Passion' will probably change title soon, as I'm not too happy with it, but the story will not disappear. And so you know, I write a bit of erotica here and there, so some of it may work its way into this fic. Don't go raging about. I'm not going to go into detail. I most possibly would, if ff.net would allow it. Until then, they stay on the good side and I try to work out the ratings. Kapish?  
  
On with the story.  
  
---  
  
Philippe didn't bother to look up from the morning paper as Raoul stumbled into the drawing room for a cup of tea and breakfast, already knowing what a wreck the man looked. Raoul wasn't a morning person, he knew, and it took a good half an hour to get bathed, dressed, and ready for the day. But this was most unlike him. The young man had awoken two hours past his usual time; usually he would be up and about by now, fed and ready to start the day. Instead, he was just now sitting down on the couch, in his sleepwear, and sipping a warm cup of tea. Philippe looked over the rim of his paper and raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Well, good morning to you too, sleepyhead," he began, turning the page. "You slept in quite a long time. Is something wrong?"  
  
Raoul reached over and scooped a spoonful of sugar, dumping it in his tea and stirring. "No, nothing's wrong. I must've eaten something that disagreed with my stomach last night."  
  
"Mmhmm. Is that why you decided to suddenly leave the opera house last night without saying goodnight to your lover? I'm sure she was terribly disappointed, shame on you, Raoul."  
  
"Oh, shut up," Raoul grumbled, leaning back against the cushions. "I wasn't feeling well. If my stomach was upset, I didn't want to be sick all over her."  
  
"Yet you were fine and laughing and talking with me all the while back home," Philippe mused, eyes skimming over the page. "I must say, whatever happened last night did a number on you, dear brother. You were gone practically the whole time! I barely got to see you." His eyes flickered up to Raoul. "Will you tell me what you were doing, brother, or are you going to keep it a secret?"  
  
"It's none of your business," he snapped, glaring. "Nothing happened, anyway. I just went to Box Five and sat there for the rest of the performance."  
  
"Did you meet the Opera Ghost?" The elder set his paper down and took up his cup of tea. "Is he as frightening as rumours say he is?"  
  
"There was no one," Raoul lied, shivering. Suddenly, it was cold in the room, and he drunk the rest of his tea. "It's all just a fable. Box Five was empty."  
  
"Well, then. We'll have to sit in Box Five the next time we go to the opera, won't we, if there's no one in there?" Philippe sipped the sweetened liquid. "What do you say to that, brother?"  
  
"No!" Raoul set his cup down and stood, glaring down at his brother. "We mustn't do that. Even if there is an opera ghost, we wouldn't want to upset him. Perhaps he just wasn't there last night, and therefore I didn't see him. I am not going back to Box Five, and neither are you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to wash up and get dressed. I'm meeting Christine at the opera house and taking her to lunch."  
  
"Oh, you are? Where are you going?" Philippe set the paper aside and looked up at the younger man expectantly. Something was amiss.  
  
"There's a café we both want to explore near the park. you've seen it, Philippe. The Life Café, I think it's called."  
  
Philippe nodded. "Yes, I've seen it. Well, don't be too long. I wanted to take you out for dinner tonight. We haven't had a heart to heart brotherly conversation in a long time."  
  
"Of course. Excuse me." Raoul turned and calmly walked back up the stairs into the bathroom and locked himself inside. Drawing a bath, he undressed and slipped into the tub, sighing contentedly as warm water surrounded and caressed his body. He began to wash himself slowly, scrubbing away the guilt and release from his body from the previous night. Wetting his hair, he began to lather soap into his thick dark locks, closing his eyes and thinking of last night's opera.  
  
Raoul had vaguely heard a word of the notes sung in the opera the night before, as he was only concentrated on the Phantom beside him. He still couldn't believe what a fool he was, to have blurted out what he thought of Erik's eyes. Yes, he had made a complete fool out of himself, and damn he would do it again, even to talk to him for a split second. Washing the soap out of his hair, Raoul sighed. Why was he getting so worked up over such a small thing?  
  
No, this wasn't a small thing. This was a big thing. He had feelings for Christine, didn't he? He loved her, worshipped her. He couldn't possibly fall for the Phantom of the Opera! This was unheard of, a male loving another male. Especially in his family. What would Philippe say if he found out about his fascination? About what really happened in Box Five, how he had tried to court the Phantom and ended up with a reprimand? He would be kicked out of the house, for starters. Then where would he go?  
  
But no, it wasn't possible. How could he be sure? Raoul sighed. He knew he had to go back. He had lied to Philippe, saying he was going to meet Christine. Today was Christine's day off, and she usually spent it reading and resting. Standing up in the bath, Raoul stepped out and wrapped a towel around his body, letting the water out of the tub and gathering his clothes. Today he had mission.  
  
He was going to find out the Phantom's name.  
  
Stepping into his room and closing the door, Raoul dressed quickly and combed his hair back, shaved, and tied his shoes and wrapped a scarf around his neck. Taking a good look at himself in the mirror, he nodded and left the room, taking his gloves from the table and slipping them on as he descended the stairs, looking around for his brother as he took his coat from the hanger. "Philippe? I'm leaving!"  
  
Philippe strolled in to inspect his brother, his hands in his pockets and his eyebrow raised. "My, aren't you dressed to kill," he said, brushing invisible dust from Raoul's shoulders. "Have a nice time, Raoul. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."  
  
Shrugging on his coat, Raoul smirked. "If that's anything at all." Raoul smiled and planted a kiss on his brother's cheek. "I'll be back in time for dinner. See you around." With that, he opened the door and left, calling for a carriage, climbing in, giving instructions, and taking off.  
  
~***~  
  
Erik awoke to his head being used as a pillow by his cat, her gentle paws kneading his skull and combing his hair. Gently batting her away, Erik sat up and groaned. What a night! First of all, he had slept in his clothes, which he didn't usually do. Had he been that tired? Secondly, what time was it? It felt awful late. he took his pocket watch from his coat and gave it a look. Eight o'clock. Well, it wasn't too late.  
  
Tucking his watch back into his pocket, Erik rose from the bed and began to undress to slip into another tux and shirt, even bothering to change his shoes and socks. Stepping into the bathroom, he filled the sink with water and began to wash his face, taking extra care with his deformities to clean them out and dry his face. Once he finished getting the soap off his face, he lifted his eyes to the mirror and stared.  
  
A death's head, indeed. He looked as if someone has mauled him, then left him to die and decay. As he studied his face, his eyes kept drifting back to look at the yellow orbs that Raoul had called 'beautiful'. That boy must be on some kind of chemical high. Erik smirked. Perhaps he's tried opium before?  
  
Wetting his hair, he drew a comb through his long, dark tresses, all the while staring at his eyes. They weren't entirely demon-like, they could be pretty if they weren't so yellow. oh, bah. That Vicomte was mad.  
  
Heading back into his room, Erik picked up his mask and put it on and, picking up Ayesha, walked across his house to the kitchen. Setting her down on the floor, he began making her breakfast, as well as his own. A small cheese omelet for himself, and milk and meat in gravy for Ayesha. Giving her the food, Erik sat down to eat alone, the only sound being the cat's soft purring.  
  
After finishing his breakfast, Erik got up and washed his dishes and cleaned Ayesha's once she was done, putting them away. He then proceeded to brew a cup of tea, stifling a yawn behind his hand. What to do today. He would take his daily patrol of his theatre, make sure everything was in order, then what? He could compose more of Don Juan Triumphant. he was so close to being finished. Yes, he could do that. It was a nice day, and he could feel the inspiration bubbling in his body. Yes, he would compose today.  
  
Straining the tea leaves and putting the water on to boil, Erik idly reached down to stroke the queen's fur as she rubbed up against his leg. The opera was perfect last night. Christine sang beyond the ability of angels, and that dreaded Carlotta was nowhere in sight. The tenor was spectacular, he baritone could've been better, and his view was, of course, top notch.  
  
The only thing that irked him was Raoul. The viscount had 'business' with him. Some business, indeed. Erik laughed softly to himself. It was the first time he'd been lusted over in a long time, and somehow, it felt good. But on such a short notice! Raoul could've been more a gentleman and given him heads up when he decided to glaze his eyes over and tell him he was beautiful.  
  
Pouring himself a cup of tea, Erik stirred in honey and sugar, and took a seat, warming his hands on the cup. "What a fool you are, Raoul," he murmured, sipping delicately. Yes, it was true that he had teased him last night, and quite inappropriately. He had no need to tease him, or offer himself. Yellow eyes narrowed. Did he actually offer his body to that man? What's gotten into him?  
  
Nibbling on his bottom lip, the Phantom listened to the empty silence of his underground abode as he sipped his tea, pondering the previous night's events and the day's plans. Raoul, compose, Raoul, compose, Raoul, compose, Raoul. Raoul. Angrily, Erik stood and, with his tea in his hand, swept the room his organ sat and sat down on the bench, his fingers resting on the keys. He had to get that blasted Raoul out of his head.  
  
He began to play an angry melody that lead into a soft, sweet song before descending into a sad, mournful tune. He only played to clear his head, and he was pleased to find that his music took over his mind, and soon he thought of nothing else, Raoul pushed far from his head.  
  
Erik continued to play for the longest of times, straight on until his fingers screamed for rest. It was then when he rose from the bench and, drinking his now cold tea, walked out and took his cloak, draping it over his shoulders and left the house. He went through his labyrinth until he came to the main level of the opera house, beginning his patrol. There was no one around, except for the managers and the ballet dancers practicing backstage. Erik hummed quietly to himself as he took his time walking amongst the marbled floors, the statuettes and the staircases, climbing up and overlooking the stage and orchestra seats below.  
  
He peeked into every box, mounted every staircase, even went down below to walk through the rows of seats in the orchestra. He then went across the stage, checking the trap doors and inspecting the curtains. Old, tattered things, they were, but so beautiful. He admired the velvet feel under his lean fingers, a touched he welcomed. Erik sighed and wrapped himself in the velvet drapery. They offered him comfort and welcome, and he breathed in the musky scent. It felt good to be wrapped up in the curtains on the stage he loved so much.  
  
Sensing somebody nearing, Erik opened his eyes to be met with those of old, tired chocolate brown ones of his friend. He peered out at him from his position in the curtains and narrowed his eyes. "Daroga, I thought you would be elsewhere today. I didn't think you would be haunting these halls as you often do."  
  
Nadir chuckled softly. "It is you who haunts these halls, dear Erik. I am merely your servant."  
  
"Servant indeed," Erik snorted, pulling the velvet tighter around him. "Where is your sniveling puppy, that Darius? Is he not around?"  
  
"Darius, as you know, does not like this opera house," Nadir returned smoothly. "It gives him the creeps, and I can see why. You run this place in the palm of your hand. Had I not made an acquaintance with you before, I would have said the same thing."  
  
"You think my opera house is creepy? I've never heard it been given such a thoughtful compliment," the Phantom purred, chuckling. "Honestly, Daroga. I don't know if the opera would still be standing if I were not here to keep watch over it."  
  
"Indeed." Nadir leaned against the stage wall. "You *are* the mastermind behind everything, anyhow."  
  
Erik shifted his weight, raising an eyebrow behind the mask. "Why, do you think someone else should be running *my* opera house?"  
  
"I just think you should give the managers a chance," the Persian coolly replied. "If you weren't always stepping on their toes and breathing down their necks, I'm sure they could manage handling the opera house quite well."  
  
"Absolutely not. Those fools can't even keep the finances together!"  
  
"Have you given them a chance?"  
  
"No, but that's beside the point."  
  
"You see, Erik? You're so manipulating. I don't see how anyone can stand you." Erik scowled. "What does it matter to you, Daroga? I'm perfectly happy manipulating people, you know that."  
  
Nadir chuckled and sighed. "Yes, I know. But let's forget about that. I wanted to speak with you about last night."  
  
Erik's eyes narrowed into slits. "If you're going to say anything about that damned Vicomte de Changy, you won't get anything from my lips. I've had enough of him for two days."  
  
"Have you really? Care to tell me what happened?" Nadir smirked and stood up straight. "Well? I'm waiting, Erik."  
  
The Phantom muttered darkly and shifted his eyes away from his friend. "It's 'Raoul this' and 'Raoul that' with Christine," he murmured, snuggling back into the curtains. "I hear too much of that boy, and then he goes and tries to court me. Honestly, Nadir. I don't know what to do. I did a very stupid thing and I offered myself to him, but also gave him something to think about. Hopefully, he'll turn back to Christine and forget about me."  
  
"Ah, are we ourselves developing a crush on a certain someone?" At the silence given to him, Nadir smiled. "You're in love. I can see it in your eyes, I can hear it in your silence." He touched his finger to Erik's lips to keep him from speaking. "Do not be ashamed, Erik. You haven't fallen in love for years."  
  
"I am *not* in love," Erik barked, glaring. "Far from it. I'm just waiting until Raoul gets over this childish crush he has on me. But I am *no way* in love, Nadir, and don't you ever suggest it again. What has come over you people? I am not in love with Raoul!"  
  
"How long have you been without a lover, Erik? How many years has your heart been without love?"  
  
"Since I've been born, thank you," Erik growled. "My mother showed me no love, no contempt. Where is this going, Daroga?"  
  
"No, I meant how long has it been since you've last taken a lover? Am I mistaken to assume you are a virgin?"  
  
Erik nibbled thoughtfully on his lip. "I have never taken a woman, no, if that is what you mean by 'virgin'."  
  
"Oh? Then you have taken a man, or have you been taken by one?"  
  
"Nadir! I will not talk about this! Frankly, it is none of your business, anyway."  
  
"It is now. Tell me about your lover, Erik."  
  
Erik sank to the floor, still wrapped in the curtains, and sighed. "Shut up, Daroga. You tire me. I don't want to talk about this, it pains me."  
  
Nadir kneeled beside him and stretched out a hand to stroke the jet-black hair. "All right, I'll let you go, for now. But don't think you'll get away from this. I want to hear the complete story from you sometime, my friend. Even if I have to poke you insistently until I get an answer."  
  
"Daroga, I--." Erik was about to protest when he felt another presence. An intruder! Who could be here, in his opera house, without his consent? "If you'll excuse me, Nadir, I have some things to inspect." He didn't wait for a response. Erik unraveled himself from the comfort of the curtains and had disappeared into the opera house, noiselessly walking down the hallways and arriving at the balcony just in time to see Raoul mount the grand staircase, looking around.  
  
"Phantom? Phantom! Are you there?"  
  
"Yes, I'm here, you mindless pup," Erik said, coming out of the shadows and leering down at the man. "What do you want? I thought I had dismissed you."  
  
"Tell me your name." Raoul met his gaze and held it steady. He was not going to let him ago until he accomplished his goal.  
  
"My name is of no importance to you." Erik glared at him sternly. "Why do you continue to return here, Vicomte? Don't you have other, more important things to do?"  
  
"Why do you take my audience?" Raoul smirked. He had obviously caught him by surprise. "There must be something you want out of it, as well."  
  
Erik gripped the marble railing and growled. "I want nothing to do with you, Raoul. You're merely intruding on my personal space. I want to know what you want, and what I can do for you, so I can get back to living my normal life."  
  
Raoul bravely covered a few more steps. "Normal life, you say? What life would that be? Living in this opera house, hiding in the shadows? That doesn't sound like a normal life to me, Phantom. Now please, if you want me gone, you will kindly tell me your name."  
  
Sighing, Erik shook his head. "Alas, Raoul, my name means nothing to the likes of you. Whatever frivolous idea you have in your head should be forgotten, since I have no plans to come together to do anything with you. Ever. Is that clear? Yes, that means I don't want to see you in Box Five, if you value your life."  
  
Stepping up to the main level where Erik stood, Raoul laid a hand on the banister and leisurely walked forward, sighing dramatically. "If you wish, I will no longer come to Box Five. But that was only one night, Phantom. We accomplished so much in one night, it's a shame to say it didn't ever happen."  
  
Erik remained where he was standing, the smell of the man almost intoxicating. He raised an eyebrow under the mask and was faintly aware of him coming closer, ever so closer. "Nothing happened between us last night, Vicomte. You were overtaken by lust, and that was all."  
  
"Even when you offered yourself to me, that was nothing?" Raoul took a final step. Now their faces were inches away from each other, Raoul's breath fanning Erik's lips. "Can you truly say that?"  
  
"Leave," Erik ordered weakly, stepping back. "I don't want to see your face around here other than when there's an opera. Now go. Your presence is not welcomed."  
  
Turning on his heel, Erik started to leave when a firm hand caught his arm and whirled him back around. Before he had time to think, Raoul crushed his lips to Erik's in a bruising kiss that left him speechless and rigid, his eyes shocked open as the kiss lasted longer than he expected it to. Raoul, realizing he wasn't going to be pushed away, deepened the kiss and pulled Erik closer to his body. He soon found out that mistake a second too late.  
  
Erik roughly pushed Raoul away from him, sending him stumbling backwards, his lasso out in a mere second and loosely around the other man's neck in a flash. Raoul gasped and grabbed at the lasso around his neck, staring wide- eyed up at the Phantom. Erik rested a foot atop his captive's chest and smirked. "Thou shalt *not* pull me close to your body," he reprimanded, pulling the lasso a bit tighter. "The kiss could've been better. But taking my silence for granted? Big mistake, my friend."  
  
Studying Raoul's terror-stricken face, Erik removed his foot and got down, straddling his abdomen and traced abstract patterns over his chest. Raoul swallowed hard as Erik's face hovered over his, masked face so mysterious and ominous that all he had to do was reach up and grab it. but there was a lasso around his neck, and Erik did have a tight hold on it. It was best he kept still.  
  
Purring his delight, Erik leaned in closer until their lips were a breath apart. "If you truly wanted a kiss from me, you could've just asked," he murmured, and, giving his lips a small lick, kissed Raoul sensually, teasingly, taking the man's breath away. To Raoul, the kiss lasted an eternity. He closed his eyes and moaned softly, returning the kiss as much as he could, only to be rejected as Erik pulled back. "Now, Raoul. that was a kiss."  
  
"Will you kiss me again?" Raoul was now sure of it. He was in love. And he was in love with the most unlikely person. Erik's laugh ringed out through the room.  
  
"What, you enjoyed it that much? Truly, you are a fool, Raoul!"  
  
"Yes, a fool in love," Raoul sighed. Erik's laughter stopped and he looked down his nose at him. "In love, you say? Tell me, after meeting me just yesterday, you are in love?"  
  
"Yes, I am in love," he whispered, meeting his eyes. "It's something about you, Phantom. I can't place my finger on it, but something about you screams perfection."  
  
Erik snorted. "How right you are. I'm a bit of everything, I'll have you know."  
  
Raoul tried to loosen the lasso as he spoke; it was getting harder for him to breathe. "Phantom, you tease me. I want you. I want your heart, your body, your mind. You're beautiful to me, Phantom. I just wish I knew your name."  
  
"You spout garbage," Erik sighed, tracing his fingers over Raoul's chest. "I understand your feelings for me, Vicomte, but that is no reason why I should give you my name." Climbing off the younger man, Erik stood and took his lasso off Raoul's neck. "Will you leave now and run back to your rightful lover, Christine? She needs you. She's probably expecting you, isn't she?" He took Raoul's pocket watch from his coat and glanced at it. "My, you're just wasting this day away. Shouldn't you be off frolicking with your lover by now?"  
  
Raoul blinked and glared, sitting up and snatching his watch from Erik's hand. "No. It's her day off. She told me she was going to rest."  
  
"Oh, poor child. So you came here to bother me and kiss me instead? Some mind you have, Vicomte." Raoul stood and brushed himself off, turning and starting down the stairs. Erik leaned against the pillar and watched him descend the stairs. "It was nice seeing you again, Raoul. Perhaps we will run into each other at the opera."  
  
Raoul twisted around to look at the masked man, and managed a smile. "Yes, perhaps. I won't forget this day, Phantom." Then, after a second thought, "I love you." Turning back around, he walked down the stairs, and left the theatre, leaving a stricken Erik behind. 


	4. NOTE

NOTE: I realize that this story has been moving at a fast pace. I've taken all the reviews and helpful criticisms to consideration and I'm going to put Slave of Passion on hold while I rewrite it. The flames have not stopped me. The nice reviews that have told me that people like my idea have been gleefully read, and I thank you. This might take me awhile; I'm a beginning authoress and I'm working on the plot. I'm also thinking of doing it a different way, with a different title. It could take me a month or so, I am doing other things, of course.  
  
Yes, the story moved too fast. Yes, Erik has been stereotyped, much to my dismay. Yes, Raoul is a flamer. *cackle* But no, I'm working on this. The new and improved Slave of Passion will go slower, and, hopefully, be not a short. That sometimes seems to happen. I totally agree, once again, that it moved too fast. Yes, "creepy" and "sleepyhead" probably didn't work themselves into 19th century vocabulary, but hey. I was trying to go for a lighter side of things.  
  
Once again, thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and keep them coming. *g* While I work on Slave of Passion, I'll probably be working on a LOTR/POTO parody, for your horrific amusement, co-writing with a friend of mine. We'll see how it ends up.  
  
Until next time.  
  
-Kalen 


End file.
